


if all the stars fell from the storm

by jamiemoriartys



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, just a hint of smut bc i'm bad, lots of denial and sexual frustration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 16:41:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2157804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamiemoriartys/pseuds/jamiemoriartys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke makes up a stupid rule and then regrets it, a lot.</p><p>or, three times Clarke is locked in with Bellamy and one time she isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if all the stars fell from the storm

**Author's Note:**

> timeline’s a bit wonky but basically everything happens before episode eight, some of it during it and then i go on my au-ish ways and everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.
> 
> didn't beta, english is not my first language, didn't bother to check the actual dialogue of ep 8.
> 
> but i just finished the first season and i have a lot of feelings about these two. here, fandom, take this as a price to join.

**i.**

So maybe Clarke's plan to go get supplies wasn't supposed to go like this. Maybe she wasn't supposed to get separated from Finn and Jasper and the rest of them. Maybe she wasn't supposed to end up in the fucking car with Bellamy.

And yet, there they are.

It’s quiet, she doesn't know what to say and he probably doesn't either.

“We were here the other night, with Finn and Wells”, she says, hugging her knees, her eyes stuck on the spot where Wells had sat. She misses him, she misses him so fucking much it’s unreal. She feels guilty, guilty for hating him all those years and guilty for protecting Charlotte.

But then again, it’s not her fault. It’s hardly Wells’ fault, either. It’s not like he’d had any say in his father’s plans or doings. He had just been unfortunate enough to be born a Jaha. Just like Clarke had been unfortunate enough to end up in a car with Bellamy – nothing she could’ve done to change the situation. There they are, sitting in the car, both looking up as if they could see anything through the windows.

It’s small, and Clarke idly wonders if people really used cars to travel miles after miles. Seems like an awfully uncomfortable way to travel. But she’d heard stories, read stories about the Earth’s glory days, about people who had lived their lives during those days. She remembers giggling at the stories his father had told about his parents and their parents – how they had travelled across the world in a car, just wandering and exploring.

“How long do we have to stay here?”

Bellamy’s words startle her, scare away the small ghost of a smile from her lips. She shifts, letting her knees go and head fall against the wall. Or whatever it is behind her – the roof, the floor of the car? She frowns, thinking back to the day when it all had been so new and exciting, when the Earth had actually seemed like an alright place to be stuck on.

“I don’t know, we were here for the whole night”, she admits after a beat of silence and lets her gaze fall on Bellamy. He seems calm, but he’s exhausted, Clarke can tell. His raw skin and the dark under his tired, tired eyes aren’t hard to notice. Not that Clarke herself is doing any better. Hell, she probably looks even worse with her light skin and light eyes.

“What the fuck did you do for the whole night?” Bellamy asks, voice all innocent, but Clarke can see how his lips curve up to a cocky smirk and how his eyes get that little, shameless sparkle in them. She feels her cheeks burning as she rolls her eyes, hoping the blue tint of their lights doesn’t show it all.

“Ha, ha, Blake”, she sighs, throwing the first thing that her hand finds towards him. It’s a piece of clothing – or it once was, now it’s just a ball of dirt and mould. He dodges, letting out a laughter, vibrant and easy. And she catches herself smiling, too.

Bellamy isn’t the only one that can be shameless, Clarke figures as she remembers the whiskey. She reaches towards the front of the car, climbing her way over grunting and complaining Bellamy.

“Well, if you must know, we had _fun_ ”, she smirks, looking over her shoulder as her hands are feeling the ground. The night in the car with Finn and Wells had been anything but fun, but now she can only chuckle at the irony of Finn’s words. Bellamy raises his eyebrows, clearly asking for a further explanation.

But before Clarke can even open her mouth, her hand finds a bottle and grabs its neck, bringing it up. And no, she doesn’t particularly enjoy whiskey, but it’s better than Monty’s moonshine, so, yeah. Besides, Bellamy looks slightly impressed as she climbs back, settling herself opposite him.

It was sheer luck that there had been another bottle, but she doesn’t need to tell that to him.

She unscrews the bottle, clearly for the first time ever, and absently wonders if whiskey got old like vegetables and meat and shit. She brings the bottle to her lips, and fuck, she can’t tell. She doesn’t know what whiskey is supposed to taste like. It burns on her lips, in her throat, and she’s pretty sure it burns in her soul, too. She coughs, handing the bottle towards Bellamy.

“Whiskey”, she announces and shakes the bottle in his direction. He takes it, slightly frowning but the corner of his mouth tugging up anyway, so Clarke counts it as a win. She watches him take a gulp, then cough too, making a face.

“This is not whiskey, Princess”, he tells her, voice lower than usually as he glares the bottle, “this is vodka.”

And Clarke doesn’t really know the difference, so, shrugging, she just takes the bottle back and takes another sip. Bellamy follows her movements with his eyes, shaking his head with an amused chuckle.

“Come on, Bellamy”, she challenges, “ _fun_.”

“Seriously, we are stuck in some piece of shit in the middle of this fucking forest, and it’s only the beginning of the night, and you want to get drunk? I thought you were supposed to be the responsible one”, Bellamy quirks up his eyebrows. He’s clearly amused, but Clarke can’t tell if it’s the situation or _her_ he’s laughing at.

“Well, I’m awfully sorry you had to get stuck in an automobile. With me. And whiskey”, she apologises, every word laced with venom. She’s not bitter, except she is. She had thought they were finally starting to get along or something, but apparently no. Well, it’s his loss, anyway. Clarke is great company, she only cries a little and tries not to complain all the time.

“Vodka”, he corrects, and snatches the bottle from her lips.

They stay like that, quietly taking gulps and exchanging the bottle back and forth.

Then, finally, it’s Bellamy who breaks the silence.

“You know, we could actually have fun, too. You, me, this automobile and a bottle of vodka.”

Clarke _instantly_ knows what he means, but she can’t tell if he’s serious or not. But even if he is, he still deserves the pitying look of _oh really_ she’s giving to him right now. And actually, she doesn't think Bellamy knows how serious he is, either. She scoffs, rolling her eyes and taking the bottle.

“I thought you had your harem all together already”, she dryly points out.

“Yeah, yeah, and you have Finn. Whatever.”

“I don’t have Finn—“

“Sure you don’t, babe”, Bellamy argues, and his voice is so mocking, smug and sure that Clarke just really wants to fucking punch him. She’s only slightly distracted by the fact that Bellamy Blake just called her a babe, just like every guy in all those romantic movies her mother had stored back on the Ark. She scoffs again, taking a bigger gulp.

She really doesn’t know if it’s for encouragement or solace, but she really doesn’t care either.

And Bellamy looks far too surprised when he finds Clarke on his lap, straddling him and taking another sip of encouragement, of solace, of whatever.

But he’s not a total tool, his hands find their way under her jacket quickly enough, wandering on her sides, exploring her back until one finds itself under her shirt, carefully studying the skin of her lower back, and the other one on the back of her neck.

He’s about to kiss her, when he feels her leaning back, staring at him. And definitely not the romantic, full of lust kind of staring. It’s more of the _what the fuck are you doing_ kind of staring.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she asks, out loud too, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh, about to kiss you?” he says like it’s obvious, and it kind of is. They stare at each other for another moment before he leans forward, again, and she leans out of his reach, again. He frowns – it’s not like he’s used to being rejected, but he’s pretty sure this is not how rejection usually works.

“If you’re going to be sentimental about this, then no”, she says, her hands still on the back of his neck. He frowns again, looking somewhat confused, and Clarke groans, looking up and losing her posture, because honestly, how doesn't he get it. Kissing is personal, it’s not like she goes around just fucking kissing all the boys. Everything else, that is just the need to be touched, to have someone right there. It’s _mandatory_.

“Kissing is off-limits”, Clarke clarifies, hands rushing to work his zipper open.

That is until Bellamy pushes her away.

“I’m not going to fuck you if I don’t get to fucking kiss you”, he declares, and for a moment they are both taken aback by his words, just sitting there in amaze – Bellamy because that’s not at all what he had meant to say, and Clarke because that’s not at all what she had expected him to say.

“Fine”, she snaps first, climbing off of him and sitting back.

They stay like that until they fall asleep, half-empty bottle of vodka in her tight embrace, and they don’t mention it when they wake up and crawl back to camp.

 

 

 

**ii.**

So maybe the second time wasn’t supposed to happen, either. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to be up in the drop ship when he had entered. Maybe Octavia didn’t mean to lock the two of them up there.

And yet, there they are.

Clarke curses the hatch, kicking it as to prove a point. Bellamy chuckles, utters out a lonely laughter full of sick desperation. He's tired, he has a lot on his mind, and Clarke is one of the things he doesn’t really want to have there. So he sighs, sits down and finds himself a nice position.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks, reminding Bellamy of the other night. He chuckles again, crossing his arms and snuggling closer to the wall.

“Might as well take advantage of the situation”, he explains. When Clarke doesn’t answer, he cracks one eye open and finds her staring at him in disbelief. So he frowns, closing his eye and shifting again, “’m tired.”

She shakes her head, wonders why he chose to be the leader then. She looks at him, and he looks calm, peaceful. It’s not how she’s used to see Bellamy Blake, but it’s refreshing to see that he’s just a human after all, just like her and everybody else. He might be older than the rest of them, but in the end, he’s just another kid, just one of the 100.

She shakes her head again, shaking all the thoughts of him away, and starts walking around, arms crossed and boots heavy. It doesn’t take long until Bellamy opens an eye again, his brows furrowed.

“Stop pacing, will you? I’m tr—” he groans, shifting again, trying to find a more comfortable position.

“What the hell is wrong with that hatch?” Clarke asks before he can even finish his plea. Bellamy looks slightly insulted, which is definitely understandable considering she had interrupted both his rest and his sentence. He shrugs, however, sighing.

“I don’t fucking know. Raven promised to take a look. Can you, _please_ , stop pacing now?”

“Of course she did”, she spits out before she can even realise it. It’s not like Clarke is holding any grudges against Raven, or Finn. Or no, she’s definitely holding grudges when it comes to Finn. She can’t believe it had been so easy, for her to fall for the whole mysterious but a good guy spacewalker act. A day and a half. A day and a fucking half, and he’d had her begging underneath him, begging him to take her any way he wanted to.

“Hey, just because your boyfriend happened to lie to your face, doesn’t mean you should hate Raven”, Bellamy notes, quirking up a questioning eyebrow. And Clarke doesn’t know why he’s sort of standing up for Raven, but he has a point. Besides, it's not like Clarke doesn't like Raven. She really does.

“He’s not my boyfriend”, she manages through her teeth, throwing an impressive glare towards Bellamy, who simply snorts, closing his eyes again.

“Sure he’s not”, he starts, and Clarke can’t be even bothered to say anything until he continues, voice mumbled, “bet you let him kiss you plenty.”

And that’s what gets under her skin. Not that Bellamy isn’t right, but still. She already knows she fucked up, she doesn’t need Bellamy Blake out of all people to remind her about it. She's fuming for a moment, just glaring at him and wondering what the hell she ever did to deserve this.

It doesn’t really hit her until moment later – a soft smile appears on her lips as she walks up to him, crouching in front of him and smacking the side of his head to get his attention. It works: he opens his eyes and looks angry. Then again, when doesn’t he look angry?

Clarke smirks, because, “Bellamy Blake. Are you jealous to Finn Collins?”

His features soften for a brief second or two, his eyes are shifting between hers. He doesn’t open his mouth – he’s simply staring at her, waiting for her to break. But she’s not willing to step down, and to prove her point she raises an eyebrow and leans closer to his face.

“I think you are jealous to Finn Collins”, she whispers slowly, dropping her eyes on his lips. She’s not going to kiss him, of course she’s not, she swears. But his lips do look nice. Bellamy isn’t the type she likes – he has rough features, dark eyes and freckles peppered all over his raw skin, he has untamed curls, broad shoulders and he’s tall, so fucking tall. She thinks about Finn, the kind and good-hearted Finn Collins, and how he is everything Bellamy is not.

With one easy movement, Bellamy has her pinned against the wall, and she curses herself for getting lost in her thoughts.

“I think you are thinking rather highly of yourself, Princess”, he whispers back, and she swears she just caught his gaze dropping to her lips, too. But like said, Bellamy is tall, taller than her – maybe he’d been just looking at her eyes. She can’t tell, and she starts to doubt herself, too. Maybe it’s just some idiotic vision she made up to feel better about herself. Hell, she had been drunk when Bellamy had said he wanted to kiss her.

Okay, well, maybe he hadn’t used those exact words, but hey, close enough.

And that’s not even the point – Clarke is just wondering if he had even said anything like that at all, or if it had been just her imagination running wild, trying to protect her ego. She decides no, she decides that she can definitely remember Bellamy trying to kiss her. And with this newly built confidence, she looks up at him.

“Am I?” she asks, all sweet and innocent, and presses her body against his. She knows she’s playing dirty, but she’s not the one who has her hands pinned against the wall and his knee between her legs. She’s merely playing with the cards Bellamy had dealt.

She’s pretty sure he freezes for a moment, then melting into a smirk and letting out one of those lonely, smug, mocking laughters he often makes. She loathes the sound, and she’d punch him in the throat if she could. But his grip holds, and she’s defenseless.

“Finally!”

It’s Jasper who opens the hatch and finds them like that. Clarke glares at him over Bellamy’s shoulder, hoping he would take the hint and close the fucking hatch so they could finally deal with whatever issues they seem to have. But no, Jasper stays there, staring at them until Octavia pulls him down and gets up herself.

“Jesus fucking Christ, _really_? The king and the princess, of fucking course, I should’ve known”, she scoffs, shaking her head as Bellamy glares at her over his shoulder, too. He’s still not budging, and Clarke’s still not even trying to resist him.

But then he lets her go without a warning, and she _almost_ has troubles catching herself. She curses her knees for going weak. She absolutely refuses to curse Bellamy for making her knees go weak, she simply tugs the hem of her shirt and punches him in the chest as she passes him.

They go back down, and they go hunting. Clarke goes with Jasper and Bellamy goes with Octavia, deeply regretting it when she mentions the sexual tension up there had been so thick she couldn’t have cut it with a knife.

 

 

 

**iii.**

So maybe it most definitely wasn’t supposed to happen three times. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to be around him at all. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to volunteer when no one else wanted to go on a suicide mission with him.

And yet, there they are.

“Honestly, Clarke, we _have_ to stop meeting like this”, Bellamy says as soon as Clarke wakes up. She has no idea where they are, but apparently she’s chained to a ceiling in what looks like a cave. And of course he is too, and of course he is so close to Clarke she can feel his breath on her skin. Amazing. Truly amazing.

“Shut up”, she groans.

Her wrists hurt, her arms hurt, and her feet definitely hurt. She doesn’t know how long she’s been standing on the very tips of her toes, she doesn’t know how long she’s been passed out. Bellamy doesn’t seem all that bothered, but a glance down tells Clarke that he’s standing very comfortably on his heels and everything. She sighs. Fuck being short.

Clarke tries to tippy toe a little bit further away from Bellamy, focusing really hard on collecting all of her strength. Her efforts deserve a scoff from him, and her head immediately snaps back up.

“Shut up”, she tells him again, and looks back down as if it helps with the whole tippy toeing thing. It doesn’t and she feels like she could just give up.

Their wrists are chained together, of course, and it’s only now that Clarke notices Bellamy is holding her fucking hand. Okay, maybe not exactly _holding_ , but he has some of his fingers wrapped around some of her fingers, and then there’s his thumb, rubbing feather-light circles on the skin of her palm.

It’s oddly calming, so she pretends like she didn’t notice it at all.

Twenty minutes later, Clarke feels tired. She gives up with trying to get away from Bellamy, instead pressing her body against his – she stands on his toes, resting her head on his shoulder.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” he asks, and she laughs because that seems to be rather common question between the two.

“I’m shorter than you”, she murmurs against his neck, and idly wonders why he smells so good. She’s heard about people having their own scents, but she had never noticed it on the Ark. But Bellamy, even with his thin layer of sweat, smells like night air, river water and that strange Earth flower that makes you fall asleep in seconds. She quite likes his scent, and for a moment it’s almost impossible to resist the urge to kiss his neck. Or his jaw.

God, she loves his jaw line.

“That doesn’t give you the right to smash my toes”, he remarks with a dry voice, and she looks up, frowning because he doesn’t need to be an arsehole about this.

“Are you calling me fat?” she asks, leaning back as much as she can without losing her balance.

“Fucking hell, of course not, Princess, you look great”, he states, and he’s using the voice he uses when people are asking stupid questions and the answer is obvious. And Clarke doesn’t know if she should feel flattered or insulted. He’s avoiding her eyes, gaze strictly forward and over her head, so she still doesn’t know how to react.

“Then you really shouldn’t mind”, she finally declares, tucking her head in the crook between his neck and shoulder. It feels like completing a puzzle, that’s how well she fits against his warm skin. His thumb is still drawing circles on her skin, and she feels safe enough to fall asleep again.

The next thing she knows, the chain gives up and she drops on the ground.

“Time to wake up, Princess”, Bellamy smiles, rubbing his own, now free wrists. With a groan, Clarke gets up, and he grabs her chain immediately, working the lock open with what seems to be a needle or a nail or something. His fingers are calloused, bloody even, and when her chains are gone, she doesn’t let go of his hands, studying them with care.

“What did you do?” she wonders out loud, turning his hand around and running her fingers through the palm of his hand.

“Grabbed the screw or whatever this is when the grounders caught us, figured it’d be useful”, he shrugs, and when she looks up to simply frown at him, he continues with a roll of his eyes, “you weren’t going to be any use whatsoever so _I_ had to do something.”

She rolls her eyes too, letting out a groan and resisting the urge to kiss his fingers.

Getting out of the cave doesn’t turn out to be as easy as they had expected, but Clarke gives him a boost, and despite all of his threats he actually lifts her up from the cave, too. They bicker and banter the whole way back to the camp, mostly trying to figure out who to blame for the whole suicide mission and getting caught and almost killed thing. Bellamy insists it was just recon, that they need to know where the grounders' grounds are, and Clarke declares it was stupid and reckless, that they are just fine with the way things are now.

“Fine”, he finally agrees as the camp’s gate is being opened for them, and Clarke considers it a victory before he keeps going, “then why did you come with me?”

She doesn’t know the answer. Or she does, but she doesn’t want to share it.

“Because you are a fucktard”, she shrugs, and says hi to Roma and Jasper on her way to her tent. Her plan to just get in and get down is ruined when Bellamy grabs her arm and pulls her in his tent instead. She hates being neighbours with him, she really does.

“Why did you come with me?” he repeats, and he uses that pretty fucking scary leader voice of his again. It’s the demanding tone, the one that gets him what he wants without anyone even blinking an eye. Bellamy is impressive like that, and maybe in another universe he could’ve been a great Chancellor. But he’s not whole, he couldn’t do this alone. And Clarke might be a great leader too, but she knows she isn’t whole either, that she couldn’t do this alone either.

The king is nothing without his princess, and the princess is nothing without her king.

It’s ironic, how it’s _Clarke and Bellamy_ who are supposed to rule side by side. Sometimes she laughs at the irony, wonders how easy things would be if it was Jasper and Monty, or Finn and Raven, or hell, even Octavia and Atom.

But it’s Clarke and Bellamy.

She’s torn away from her thoughts when he shakes her, demanding an answer that does not include her calling him a fucktard.

“Because I can’t do this without you”, she says, and she really didn’t mean the words to come out like a whisper, but they do and there’s nothing she can do about it. She doesn’t blink, he doesn’t blink. She’s not sure if that was what he had wanted to hear, but fuck what he wants, she’s being honest here. So she shakes herself off of the firm grip he had had on her arms, and continues with a stronger voice, “I need you, Bellamy.”

There’s a beat of silence before he dashes forward, with such a quick movement she barely has time to lean away. His hands are on her waist and hers on his chest, and as much as she'd like them to be pushing him away, they aren't.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice careful because she honestly has no idea. Or okay, maybe she has a slight idea. And when he doesn’t answer, simply blinks, she’s forced to spit it out, “you weren’t going to kiss me, right? We talked about this.”

Clarke doesn’t know why she’s so opposed to being kissed by Bellamy. Or not anymore, at least. She can’t believe she had been okay with sleeping with him as long as they wouldn’t kiss, because now all she wants to really do, is to kiss him.

But Clarke Griffin, she’s a stubborn one.

Bellamy steps away from her, and she definitely doesn't pout at the loss of contact.

“Is it honestly just off-limits, or is this personal?” he asks with a tight voice, because he’s starting to feel like it is personal. That it’s not about kissing being off-limits, that it’s simply about him instead, about how she just doesn’t want him, at all. He’s frustrated, slowly getting angry over it even if he had sworn not to.

He had sworn not to, because he can’t afford to fight with Clarke, he can't afford to not have Clarke by his side.

And she dares to look upset, vulnerable, like his outburst hurts _her_ feelings.

“Oh, trust me, Blake, kissing is off-limits because _it_ is too personal. And this”, she points between the two of them, talking about the relationship between them, “is not even close to personal. _Nothing_ personal.”

And with that, she turns around like the fiery little thing she is, and leaves his tent. He’s left with his growing frustration, kicking down a table on his way, cursing her. He can’t believe he let her get to him, get under his skin. She’s like an itch he can’t reach, like the scratch on the roof of his mouth that would heal if only he could stop tonguing it. But he can’t, so he kicks down another table.

 

 

 

**(i.)**

They’ve been okay for at least five days now. Five days without Clarke calling him a fucktard, five days without Bellamy being a asshole, five days without Clarke disagreeing with him about everything, five days without Bellamy trying to kiss her.

Not that she’s keeping count, no.

They’ve been busy – Bellamy with the grounder, Clarke with saving Finn and talking to the Ark. She’s pretty sure they’ve been accidentally on purpose avoiding each other, too. It’s not like she wants to bury the bodies or torture the grounder, or like he wants to help with Finn or talk to Jaha. Or anyone on the Ark. So she has stayed out of his way, and he out of hers.

That is until Kane tells her about the supply depot, and she doesn’t even hesitate to go to Bellamy. He, however, seems more than hesitant, and it’s not because he doesn’t believe the supply depot to be useful. It’s because of her, she can tell by the way he puts weight on his words.

“Why are _you_ asking _me_?”

And if he wants them to be assholes about this, sure.

“Well, because right now I don’t feel like being around anyone I actually like.”

He chuckles, somewhat amused by her words, and she figures that’s a yes. And it is a yes, and when he promises to meet her in ten minutes, she can’t help but feel relieved. It’s not like she’s missed him, but she kind of has. So she doesn’t even give a shit about Finn trying to stop her or Raven practically jumping at the chance to spend the day in bed with him, she’s just happy to get away for a day.

Or five, if she had to guess based on what Bellamy is packing to go.

“A lot can happen in a day”, he shrugs when she questions him about it, and her ears tell her he definitely said _could get locked in for a day_. Maybe by now, Clarke has been locked in with Bellamy enough to know she’s probably going to end up getting locked in the weird underground base they’re trying to find an entrance to, too. She doesn’t yet know how, but she’s absolutely sure it will happen somehow – since it seems to be her destiny, it will find a way to happen, she’s certain about it.

Still, she doesn’t regret choosing him to go with her.

Okay, maybe she does a little when Bellamy seems ridiculously pissed off. Maybe it’s because of Octavia or the grounder or Jaha or whatever, but it’s annoying and making her pissed too. He’s barking orders, and Clarke really doesn’t want to let him act like he’s in charge.

But he’s had a rough few days, so she decides to be a nice and actually play along. She mocks his leader voice only a little after she's sure he won't hear her.

They find a way in rather quickly, and for a moment, they actually end up acting like professional leaders instead of sexually frustrated teenagers.

Which they totally aren’t anyway, just so you know.

Nothing unprofessional happens until Bellamy helps her with her shooting position, his hands lingering on her just a moment too long. There’s an awkward beat of silence before he steps back, taking a gun too, and they’re back to keeping it strictly professional.

And Clarke is surprisingly okay with it, so okay until Bellamy brings up Miller and she counts one plus one in her head.

“You’re gonna run”, she realises, facing him. He looks away, avoiding her, and it _hurts_ because, “that’s why you agreed to come with me.”

She can’t believe him. It hasn’t been even a week since she told him she needs him. Suddenly, she’s upset, angry even, and she’s ready to fight him on this. And since she apparently isn’t enough to make him stay, she brings up Octavia. And even that doesn’t help. He doesn’t _care_. She tries to swallow the lump in her throat, but she can't.

“You don’t know what—“ _you mean to me_ , she means to say, but he’s already talking over her.

“I shot the Chancellor! They’re gonna kill me, Clarke.”

She doesn’t want to hear it. Mostly because she has an incredibly visual mind which means she’s already playing the scene – the guardsmen catching Bellamy, kicking him down and shooting him – in her head, but also because she needs him so fucking much.

But he walks out of the situation before she can do anything, tears already burning her eyes.

She has no idea what happens next, it’s like she can’t control herself at all, like her mind has a… mind of its own? Everything becomes a blur, she doesn’t know what’s real and what isn’t. And when she realises what _isn’t_ real, she can’t remember what is. And then it’s all darkness.

Clarke wakes up with a gun pressing into her gut, and suddenly she’s very aware of what is real. Bellamy’s missing, and there’s unfamiliar footsteps – not that she knows Bellamy’s boot size – leading away from her.

And once she gets out, she hears them, she hears Bellamy’s pleas. She hears him begging, and it’s not like Bellamy at all. She can feel her eyes burning again as she hears his screams – _kill me, I deserve it, I can’t fight anymore_ – but the waters won’t flow, simply blurring her vision. She runs, runs until she feels like choking, and then she runs more.

She runs until she has Dax in her aim, and she tries, tries her hardest because she’s not going to let Bellamy die. He, out of all people, doesn’t deserve to die. She _needs_ him, she needs him like she needs oxygen.

They are complete opposites of each other – Bellamy all dark, Clarke all light – and yet they can’t exist without one another. They are like the day and the night, she needs him like the day needs the night, like the light needs the dark

Finally, it’s Bellamy who puts an end to it, and Clarke is pretty sure she’s crying by now. Not because she fucking miserable because Bellamy was ready to die a moment ago or scared or anything, but because she’s relieved – she’s relieved Bellamy chose to fight, even if it's just for a little longer.

He crawls next to her like it’s urgent, and she grabs his hand as soon as he gets close enough. He’s okay, he’s alive, he’s next to her, he’s right there. She’s so fucking relieved she is absolutely crying now. He’s okay, she’s okay to the point where Bellamy opens his mouth, letting out a choked _no, I’m not_. He sounds so vulnerable, so broken, that he’s actually scaring Clarke.

And she doesn’t know how they got here again, but she just wants to fix him, refusing to let go of him because, “I need _you_.” She doesn’t know what else to say, so she repeats it over and over again, her hands on his cheeks, trying to wipe the blood away. She repeats it until her words turn into broken sobs because he isn’t saying anything, because he seems to be just an empty shell of the Bellamy Blake he used to be.

“I know”, he finally croaks, his voice rough like he hasn’t used it in years, and she lifts her head, looking into his eyes. And before he can really say anything, do anything, she hugs him so tightly he can hardly breathe. She needs him, and she can’t believe she was just this close to losing him.

They stay like that, Clarke sobbing broken apologies into the crook of his neck and Bellamy just holding her tightly, rubbing soft circles on the bared skin of her back. After what feels like forever and not long enough at the same time, they get up and decide to be professional leaders again.

The camp is a fucking mess when they get back. A big part of Clarke is happy about it, because maybe now they won’t notice how big of a mess she is, too. Bellamy’s using his leader voice again, and she doesn’t think she’s ever been prouder of anyone. She may not like the idea of having guns, but she trusts him, trusts him so fucking much.

And he must trust her too, she can tell by the way his fingers grab hers as he gets pardoned for his crimes, as he tells Jaha the whole story.

They call it a night, and she’s happy that everything turned out okay.

It’s not until hours later, after Clarke has been safely tucked under her fur blanket for a good thirty minutes, when she feels like suffocating. And she would fucking love to say she doesn’t know why she gets up and walks into Bellamy’s tent, but she knows and she’s pretty sure that when she shows up in his tent, he knows too. He props himself up on his elbows, smirking, and there’s still some blood on his jaw, and she smiles.

It feels easy, almost natural to straddle him. He groans, and she figures it’s because Dax got a few good kicks in. So she pushes his shirt up, hands carefully studying the new bruises on his skin. She knows his body better than her own – she knows every scratch, scar and bruise, she knows everything she’s fixed. It’s like a map, a map she knows by heart. Still, her hands are curious as they wander, and it’s not until Bellamy grabs her arms when she snaps out of it.

He sits up, moving his hands on her back, and he’s so careful and gentle with her she has to let out a dark chuckle. He quirks up an eyebrow, giving her a look that clearly says _excuse me_. She wants to tell him she’s not fragile, that she can handle him, that he doesn’t need to be gentle, not with her.

But she can’t find words, so she pulls her shirt over her head instead, throwing it aside before starting to push his shirt up, too. He quickly lets go of her, helping her with his shirt, and before she even knows it, she’s on her back, desperate to get his zipper open. Who the fuck sleeps in their jeans, anyway?

“Who the fuck sleeps in their jeans?” she mutters, her hands busy between their bodies. He lets out a small growl, closing his eyes, when her hand brushes over his cock by accident.

“Easy now, Princess”, he hums, leaning back and working both of their jeans open with ease. She can’t help but feel the pang of jealously hit her in the chest – he’s done this so many times, with so many girls. Or maybe he’s just good with buttons and zippers, like, he is really good with his hands overall, so that’d be totally possible, too.

“Second thoughts?”

Clarke snaps out of it, again, focusing on Bellamy, again. He has her jeans halfway down, and as soon as she realises that, she kicks them off like they’re on fire. She shakes her head, because no, God no, she’s absolutely not having second thoughts.

“Good”, he murmurs into her thigh, and she doesn’t know how he got down that quickly. Anyway, he’s tugging away her panties, and she should really feel vulnerable or something, but she doesn’t. She feels his breath on her skin, and her hips buck up without her permission.

And Bellamy hums into her thigh, obviously amused by what he can make her do. He’s slow, so fucking slow, and he’s not even kissing her skin, he’s just hovering his way to her core, and Clarke curses her fucking _no kissing_ rule. She should really learn when to let go and not be stubborn about shit. Because this isn’t worth keeping her head. So not worth it.

She has nothing to hold when his tongue meet her clit, so she grabs her own hair, letting out a small, desperate moan she immediately regrets. He chuckles against her, sending shivers all over her body, and her toes curl just a little bit. He’s amazingly good, and not even using his hands. Which makes Clarke slightly worried about what’s to come, because Bellamy is obviously going to have his way with her.

A strained _fuck_ escapes from her lips and her hand goes to grab her boob as she writhes under his touch. Then it stops, all the wonderful stops, and she doesn’t know why until she opens her eyes and finds him looking at her, with a mixture of admiration and self-satisfaction.

“Princess, I—“, and Bellamy doesn’t get a chance to finish before Clarke has her fingers in his hair, pushing him back down to finish what he had started. And for a moment she thinks she’s won this she’s managed to get her way, but no. He crawls back up, covering her body with his, and she really doesn’t mean to grind against his thigh but she does and she feels fucking desperate. The friction of his jeans – why the fuck is he still wearing them anyway – feels so amazing it’s almost unreal, and she lets out another moan. This one, though, she’s not regretting.

Bellamy looks both surprised and annoyed, and she can feel his fingers dig into her hips, holding her down. There’s that smug smile on his lips, the one Clarke’s all too familiar with, and he must think this is a game.

“Not very polite to interrupt a man when he’s speaking”, he remarks as he sits back on his heels, tucking his thumbs under his waistband. And she doesn’t know who he’s trying to fool, she can fucking see he’s hard, just as desperate as she is. But she decides to play along, catches her breath and sits up, too.

“I’m so, very sorry, Bellamy”, she says, her voice small and innocent, as she unhooks her bra and lets it fall off. He freezes for a brief moment, eyes dropping on her chest, one of his hands quickly following. She works her hands between them, curiously feeling him through his jeans. And she’s ready to take the reins, she really is, but he pushes her hands away, pinning them above her head as he presses her back down.

There’s a flash of something dangerous in his eyes, and she can’t help but buck her hips again. It’s amusing to Bellamy, it has to be, because he looks at her body, and there’s this smile on his lips, like he just realised something. Like he just realised what he can make her do.

And before Clarke even knows it, he’s inside of her, hands trying to cover as much of her skin as they can. Her hands are free again, but she doesn’t know what to do with them – one ends up grabbing her hair again, and the other on her mouth as she tries to bite down all the noises escaping from her throat. Bellamy and his low growls are not helping at all, so she gives up quickly enough, wrapping her legs around him, trying to get him deeper and deeper. She pulls him closer, whispering sweet nothings into his ear and loving the way she fits right there, in the crook of his neck.

“I thought I lost you”, she whispers all of a sudden, placing a kiss on his jaw, and then another on his neck. She figures it’s only fair after all, considering how many times she’d caught herself staring at his fucking jaw line, wanting to pepper it with kisses. She wants to say it's the heat of the moment, but it's not, it's simply Clarke caving in, breaking her own rules.

Bellamy’s pace slows down to zero, and he leans back, eyes studying hers. It feels like ages before he finally does something.

“I thought kissing was too”, he starts, then punches the breath out of her with his hips as he continues, “ _personal_.”

She laughs at him, breathlessly, throwing her head back, because she is a withering mess underneath him, and he dares to tell her something is too personal. Okay, sure, he’s merely using her words, but still. He thrusts in again, hard and deep, wiping the smile off of her lips, and her mind drops everything, simply focusing on him inside of her, his calloused hands all over her soft skin, his dark eyes locked on hers.

Then he does it again, again and again, until her back arches and she cries out his name. And encouraged by this newly broken rule, he kisses her, swallowing his name from her lips.

“Oh, this is personal, Blake”, Clarke states when she finds her breath again, when he's still inside of her. She feels ridiculous, and her voice is far too shaken and weak for her mischievous words. Bellamy catches the drift anyway, kissing her again and again, until they fall down, gasping for air.

“I can’t believe you refused to fuck me if you couldn’t kiss me and then, after, like, three weeks, fucked me without kissing me.”

She breaks the silence with a disapproving whisper, and he gets so frustrated with her that neither one of them walks completely straight the next day. 

But Bellamy pins her against the wall of the dropship to steal a kiss or two or ten from her and she smacks the side of his head only a little, and Clarke uses him as a pillow when she decides to take a nap and he complains only a little, so it’s tolerable.

Definitely tolerable.

**Author's Note:**

> come cry with me at elizatays.tumblr.com and if u throw aus at me i'm not promising that i won't write about them


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